


A Softer Alternative

by thessbakerstreet



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Victor, Season/Series 03, Victor isnt an asshole in this, Well not really, but i will tag accordingly, may also be mentions of torture and drug use in future charpters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 08:12:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1933467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thessbakerstreet/pseuds/thessbakerstreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off an idea I had had on my tumblr about re-inventing series three with the presence of Victor Trevor. Victor and Sherlock re-unite during the two year hiatus and pick up where they left off before their relationship in university began to fall apart. He returns to London with Sherlock so they can start their new life together and along they way he ends up comforting the detective through rejection and flashbacks to his time spent in Serbia and also has to put up with the confused and baffled reactions of Sherlocks friends upon learning the man is in a relationship with an actual human being.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Softer Alternative

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlocks re-union with John Watson in The Landmark restaurant goes the opposite direction Sherlock expected it to take and Victor has to cope with the fallout.

“Fuck off!”  
Those were the last words John had practically screamed at Sherlock after headbutting him in the cramped chippy where they had found themselves after Sherlocks disastrous attempt at a re-union. Sherlock hadn't even tried calling after him as the glass door swung shut in Johns absence, he had just accepted the sympathetic smile Mary had offered with a small nod and followed her out of the shop feeling the confused and curious gazes of the customers at their tables boring into his back as he left.

“I don't understand, I said I was sorry isn't that was I was supposed to do?” Sherlock had asked out on the pavement, holding a tissue up to his bloody nose.  
“Gosh you really have no idea about human nature do you?”  
“nature? no. humans?...no”  
Marys smile was sweet as she replied “don't worry, I'll talk him round”  
“really?”  
“oh yeah”

Sherlock, however, had his doubts about this as his eyes landed on the stoic face of his former flatmate settled in the back of a taxi staring resolutely ahead. 'yeah, good luck with that.' he thought.  
She gave him another smile before turning her back and heading towards the car where her, well, where her would be fiancé was sat if Sherlock hadn't cocked that proposal up royally. He has, since the restaurant, decided his timing on his return could have considerably better.

He felt mildly silly standing out in the cold, on his own, watching the taxi drive off as far down the road as he could until it took a corner and vanished. He then continued to stare at the spot where it had disappeared for several minutes. He felt like some character in one of those pathetic b-grade romantic movies Lestrade was fond of ('but-tell-anyone-and-ill-kill-you-Sherlock') at the moment they watch an ex-lover storm off after a spectacular argument. 'people will talk' Johns voice echoed in his head. However he highly doubted that he and his now ex-friend would manage to have the Hollywood style reunion scene where all is forgotten and everything is fine and they click right back into the easy friendship they had built for themselves two years prior.

He reached a hand into his inside pocket, still staring off into space as he retrieved his phone and began to send a text to one Victor Jacob Trevor who was currently sitting in the living room of 221B Baker Street, anxiously waiting to hear the news about the 'im not really dead' bomb. Victor was Sherlocks old flame from his time spent at university before he dropped out in the third year to pursue other...habits. The two had re-united during Sherlocks two year absence from London as the couples relationship in their university years had subsequently been terminated by a job offer Victor had received form the elder of the Holmes brothers, requesting he take up training to become an operative of Mycrofts beloved MI6.

It was to be the career change in Victors life that would be both responsible for the separation of him and Sherlock and later their re-union as he was assigned to assist the younger man on his mission to dismantle Moriartys world-wide criminal network. The re-union had been rocky at first to say the least, with a great deal of arguing, jealousy, resentment and Victor receiving the most violent bitch-slap he had ever encountered; but the couple eventually, and somewhat inevitably, reconciled in the form of Sherlock leaping to wrap his arms and legs around the agent as they were supposedly meant to be practising self defence techniques, and mashing their mouths together in a half kiss half savage attack that lead to them stripping each others clothes off on an old gym mat, late at night in cold sports hall, praying no one else would chose that moment to wander in. Since that moment the two had more or less fallen back into their old patterns, wondering how they'd ever survived all those years without the other at his side.

Headed back to Baker Street now. Have tea ready.

Not bothering to await any form of response, Sherlock heaved himself up from the low windowsill of the cafe, wincing slightly as his back groaned in protest – the scar tissue criss-crossing his skin from an unfortunate capture in Serbia was not yet fully healed and was stretching uncomfortably over his spine – and began the short walk back to his home, silently blessing John for picking a restaurant a mere three blocks away from Baker Street. His stance as he walked was hunched and miserable, his feet catching several times on uneven paving stones, gaining him concerned or condescending looks from fellow pedestrians either picking up on his pitiful state or assuming him to be drunk and slowing making his way home from a night out on the pub. Those ones are the idiots. He thought.

Embarrassingly it took him several attempts to put the key that Mrs Hudson had generously and enthusiastically gifted him to the flat on his return – after she had stopped screaming of course – into the lock and an even longer time to drag himself up the seventeen stairs that lead to flat B of the house, his home. Victors head snapped to attention, reaching for the TV remote and clicking off some football match, or rugby match or 'god I dont care' as Sherlock pushed aside the wooden door to stand in the entryway to his living-room, staying stock still as victors eyes flitted over his posture and expression, trying to ascertain how the evening had went, eyes hardening protectively as he took in the sight of the dried blood around Sherlocks nose and lips. Evidently I had not went well.

“I made your tea” Victor said holding out a hot mug of the stuff (obviously the second he had created after the first had gone cold in wait of Sherlock) in his favourite white cup, the handle in the shape of a violin curved around to attach to ceramic. Sherlock gave a weak smile at the sheer endearing perfection that was Victor Trevor, only feeling the smallest flutters of guilt as he took the mug from the other mans hands, set it back on the table where it came from, and curled up in Victors arms instead, burying his face in the other mans neck and sighing.

“that bad huh?” Victor spoke, rubbing soothing circles into the detectives back, while simultaneously reaching over him to abandon his own mug of tea to the coffee table. He stayed silent after that, waiting until Sherlock was ready to tell him what happened, a single dark hand staying in constant motion as it stroked soothingly over patches of cotton fabric and pale alabaster skin while the other stayed tightly wrapped around a thin waist. 

“He hates me.” Sherlock admitted with a wince. Victors pained expression mirrored Sherlocks own at those three uttered words. The agent had heard countless tales of Sherlocks adventures with the army doctor while they had been away. He knew that Sherlock thought the world of his friend, and he also knew that friends were a hard thing to come across for Sherlock Holmes and he could only imagine the pain that the rejection was causing Sherlock when he had expected nothing more than to be accepted with open arms, despite Victor and Mycrofts warnings. His arms unconsciously tightened around his partner, trying to provide any degree of comfort that was possible.

“He'll come round Sherlock, you know he will, he's just shocked” Victor spoke, not knowing that his words mirrored closely those of John should-now-be-fiances. Strangely the words were no more comforting coming from Victor, the doubts that John would never forgive him still lingered poisonously at the forefront of his mind. It was in that moment that he felt overwhelmingly grateful for Victors returned presence in his life as he considered that, had he not reunited with this man, he would be finding himself returning back to London just as broken and just as scared as he had been over the past few weeks, but with no one to hold him through the pain and the loneliness and the misery. He was definitely bringing Victor along with him the next day when he planned to reveal himself to Lestrade. 

He tilted his head up to press a kiss to the other mans lips, arms still latched firmly around broad shoulders. Victor kissed back eagerly, a hand lifting from the smaller mans waist to stroke his cheek and card fingers through unruly, untameable curls as a tongue ran along his bottom lip, searching to deepen the kiss. He of course obliged. Sherlocks distress at his rejection began to dissipate as he was pulled upright to face the other man, legs resting on either side of this thighs, hips shifting in small thrusts seeking friction. 

Worries Sherlock had about John ever forgiving him began to retreat (just slightly) to the back of his mind as Victor leaned backward onto the sofa to lie horizontally, dragging Sherlock down on top of him. Yes, John may avoid Sherlock for a long while after his return, and it may take him a long while for him to forgive him (if he ever really did). But in the meantime, and always, Sherlock would have Victor by his side, and he reasoned that that was more than enough to pull him through whatever life decided to throw at him next.

**Author's Note:**

> So thats that, chapter one, done and dusted. Now this is the first fic I have posted in a long while, like, a LONG while so please be gentle with me. I hope you enjoyed. Kudos etc are appreciated so I know if anyone out there is liking what I'm doing. thank you for reading.


End file.
